Beowulf
by Angels of Twilight
Summary: Project for my English 12 class. A modernization of the Epic Poem that the movie was based off of. Same as poem, just put in story form. If you have to read this for school, feel free to use this to clear any confusion. I got an A, so it's good!
1. The Wrath of Grendel

**A/N: Okay, so as you may know, this is a project I have to do for my English class. It isn't a fanfiction I thought up. I have to modernize the epic poem, Beowulf. So, here it is…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Beowulf!**

_The Wrath of Grendel_

_It is said, in the Holy Bible, that one brother killed the other because of his jealousy. The murderer was damned by God and banished from the Lord's presence. It is the story of Cain and Abel, the sons of Adam and Eve. What isn't mentioned is Cain's fate, to be split into the evils of the present day. This is where our story begins…_

**~-~-~**

The monstrous beast growled in pain, his dark lair's walls causing the horrid sound to echo. He was growing impatient, the sounds of music, singing, and happiness grinding against his eardrums, mocking him. The songs of the beginning, all the way back to the creation of the Earth by God, the intricate details he set for the enjoyment of his children, made a list of everything the beast was barred from enjoying.

Whether Grendel's wrath was based off jealously, like that of his ancestor, or just plain anger is up for debate, but the fact that he knew of and felt these human emotions was irrefutable. It was the only aspect of Grendel that was even slightly human.

He was a monstrous thing, Grendel. His body was covered in long, coarse hair, his hands having sharp claws as fingers. He walked like a beast, his legs not fully extending and his back hunched. His face always seemed to be contorted in anger or pain. His eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire of evil, no one being able to doubt that he was. Some, like Hrothgar's men, not even knowing about him at all. At least, not at the moment.

**~-~-~**

Above Grendel's lair, the Danish soldiers celebrated in the safety of the walls of Herot. The mead hall had been built for warriors, nothing but fire being able to damage it. Hrothgar made sure of that when he had it built for them. Herot was alight with the joy of the soldiers within, but they did not know of the evil they had awakened in the process…

**~-~-~**

Grendel was planning. Come the cover of darkness, he would silence those who dared disrupt him. To continuously celebrate when there was nothing to be joyous about. Come the cover of darkness, he would silence those who dared disrupt him. To continuously celebrate when there was nothing to be joyous about. He would make them see…

**~-~-~**

Night finally fell and Grendel was anxious to begin his work. He slunk his way up to Herot's doors, wondering what the soldiers would be doing once their drinking was done. Clouds blocked the light of the moon and stars as he cracked open the hall's doors, peering inside.

All along the floor, soldiers slept. They were sprawled out, undisturbed by their intruder, their minds occupied only by dreams. Soft snores echoed through the otherwise soundless Herot hall. A fang-toothed smile cracked Grendel's face and he slipped inside.

As he looked upon the sleeping figures, his claws took control from his mind. He killed thirty of the sleeping men and carried their bodies back to his lair. A trail of blood led out of the hall's doors, an evil cackling echoing through the silent night…

**~-~-~**

The next morning broke gray and dreary, the sun fighting and losing to emerge from behind the clouds. The joyous songs of the night before turned into tears and laments for those who were taken. Hrothgar, the king of the Danes, could be found mourning the deaths of friends and companions on his throne in the hall. They had found the blood trail and the tracks of the murderer, making the thought that their friends were dead concrete.

Hrothgar sat on that throne, and he thought. He thought about the attack. Those who were lost. Those who could have been lost. And, sadly, those who could be lost. There was no denying the horrifying possibility that the monster would strike again.

_The beginning might not be the end…_

**~-~-~**

The king had been right. Grendel struck again that night, but the soldiers awoke that night. Some decided to try and fight, while others ran for their lives. Those who fought died at Grendel's claws. The only ones who survived were the people who ran. Grendel would never be satisfied with ordinary crimes again, after his attacks on the hall. Murder was the only evil that would quench his thirst.

The soldiers started sleeping in other places, trying to get as far from Herot as they could. They realized that Grendel only attacked them while they were sleeping, and decided to seek distance from the mead hall for their own safety.

Grendel won the fight against the Danes, taking Herot as his own. He controlled the hall for twelve years. Twelve years that haunted Hrothgar every moment Grendel kept control. His grief was said to even upset the seas, waves leaping ad crashing more than before. Stories and songs were written about those events, how Grendel's hatred began and his relish for his savage war against the Danes. How he kept the fighting alive just to please himself. He turned down every offering of peace, leaving the Danes with no choice. There was nothing they could do to appease him.

Grendel was like the shadow of death, striking as often as he could, taking both the young and old soldiers. It didn't matter to him. Murder was murder, and he enjoyed it.

He lived in Herot after the soldiers stopped coming, but not once did he touch King Hrothgar's throne. Protected by God, Grendel couldn't touch it. The love of God, the love Grendel could never know, kept him away from it. It was the one thing Grendel could not have.

Hrothgar's grief over the loss of the soldiers' mead hall worried his council. The best of them tried to find some kind of remedy, anything that might bring their king, the king they knew, back to them. They knew the only way to do that would be to get rid of the monster that had caused everything. They had to somehow get rid of Grendel. And they were willing to do anything to get rid of him.

The council debated over the possible outcomes of the bravest warriors battling the beast, but to no avail. The Lord either could not or would not help them, leaving them with only one other hope. They turned to the devil himself, sacrificing to him to try to get his help. They prayed for the Devil's guidance in alleviating themselves of their burden.

It eventually came to the point that people who died were hailed for finding solace from a life wrought with terror and grief…

**A/N: Okay, guys. This is the first section. I don't know how much of it I will actually put up for my project, but, if you want, I will continue and put all of the sections in my textbook up. I know there are many things that aren't all that clear, but this was originally a poem, so there's more here than there was to begin with already.**

**Review if you want, it really doesn't matter with this one. I will still reply if you do, though!**


	2. The Coming of Beowulf

_The Coming of Beowulf_

Hrothgar's sorrow continued to burden the Danes. Nothing they did seemed to have any impact on his unending misery. The fact that they had to live with something that no one seemed to be able to get rid of hung around the king and citizens alike, bringing constant terror to their lives. Their sad story spread far and wide, but no one seemed to know what to do for them…

**~-~-~**

The story of Grendel's attacks made its way to the far-off land of Geat. The strongest of the Geats, and everyone else in the world, heard of their blight and ordered a boat to be prepared for a journey to the Danes. The king's nephew wasted no time when he heard of the beast's attacks on the soldiers while they slept, and of the Danish king's sorrow regarding the lack of an answer to the problem. Beowulf declared that he would help the king in his time of need, and none of the Elders ordered him to stay. They had seen the omens, and none were bad, so they urged him to proceed with his quest.

Fourteen of Geatland's bravest and strongest men joined Beowulf, boarding the boat with their armor and weapons. They launched from the shore and made their way across the sea, not losing any time through the waves and winds. The ship, lined with gleaming armor, parted the waves ahead of them easily, while the ones behind them seemed to gently push them towards their destination.

They reached the Danish shore in the exact amount of time they had expected, everyone standing at the front of the ship to watch the approaching sand. The rolling green hills of Denmark could be seen over the sea-washed cliffs, their faces worn away by the tides of time.

They were not the only ones spotting things that day. The king's lieutenant, at that time patrolling on a wall near the shore, spotted the new arrivals, their mail, shields, and weapons gleaming in the Danish sun. He watched as they jumped from their ship and moored it. He quickly got on his horse and rode down to intercept the new arrivals.

"Who are you and why have you come here?" the watchman asked sternly, but did not give enough time to receive an answer.

"I have been a watchman over these cliffs for longer than you know, and yet I have never seen anyone approach this land so openly. I have kept these shores free of pirates who want to kill my king's people and take their wealth as their own, but they always tried to keep themselves at least somewhat hidden. And you have come prepared for a fight, weapons and armor and all," he said, sounding slightly bewildered. He mentally shook himself before continuing.

"You have not provided me with proof of permission for you to be here. Spies will not be allowed any farther into Denmark than you are already. State your name, the name of your father, where you have come from, and your purpose here," he finished, more sternly than he had been. He pointed at Beowulf, who stepped forward. His men looked on as he answered the watchman, the words rumbling in his chest as he spoke them.

"We are Geats, our king being Higlac. My father was a famous soldier. His name was Edgetho. He was known as a leader, and wise men all over the world would surely remember him. He lived a long life," Beowulf boasted. He drew in a large breath and continued.

"We are here to see your king, Hrothgar, but only in friendship. Our business with your people is no secret. We have come about the creature that has been attacking people during the night. The one who has filled your people with terror and your king with sorrow. I hope to help provide your king with a solution to this curse. That is, unless we have heard wrong?" Beowulf asked. The watchman bowed his head and shook it back and forth.

"Unfortunately, you have heard right." He paused, his gaze travelling over the foreign soldiers before him.

"Alright. I believe you have spoken the truth. I will guide you to my king. Bring everything from your ship and my men will watch it until you are ready to head back home. That is, if you survive a battle with the beast. You will go back to your home with the adoration of the Danes you save by doing so," the watchman said before turning away and starting towards Herot. The Geats followed, not commenting on the last section of the mounted officer's speech.

They marched with their guide, the Danish sun glinting off their golden helmets, causing the wild boar heads to gleam. The decorations on their armor swung back and forth as they marched, just like sentinels ready for a fight.

The hammered gold seemed to glow in the sun as they approached Herot. The famous hall towered over the hills, its glittering roofs visible for miles. Their guide reined in his horse and pointed in the direction of the hall. He headed back to his post along the shore and the Geats continued on towards the hall.

**~-~-~**

They arrived in the majestic hall and immediately another soldier came to escort them to the king. Beowulf ordered a few men to stay behind with their weapons, and the rest followed him. They entered the throne room and Beowulf halted a few feet from the raised dais of the king's throne, his chain mail shirt making a soft tinkling sound as he moved.

"King Hrothgar!" he began loudly. "Higlac is my uncle and my king. This has caused my younger years to have been happy and prosperous. But now, word has spread, even across the ocean to my home, of how Herot has become abandoned during the night. The sun's rays are replaced by those of the moon, and your soldiers are subject to a kind of fear that drives them out of their own hall," Beowulf said, emphasizing his words.

"The most brilliant of the Geats have told me that it is my duty to come here to Denmark and help you with this creature. They have seen for themselves how well I fight my enemies, how my strength helps me in my battles. I have fought many creatures, winning each battle and living to fight another day. Death was my gift to them, and it was the fate they deserved. Now, it is time for me to fight Grendel. But I want to ask a favor of you. I have come far, and will rid you and your people of the evil residing in your hall. You should not deny me this." Hrothgar did not respond, so Beowulf continued.

"I was told that this monster's hate of humans is so strong that he does not need weapons, and has no fear. So neither will I. If I were to fight against this beast with my sword, my fear keeping me back, my shield protecting me from harm, my lord might think less of me. I will fight this monster with my bare hands, and we will let God decide who wins and who loses." Hrothgar nodded his agreement, but still did not speak a word. There seemed to be a small glimmer of hope sparking in his dark eyes.

"Now, I believe Grendel's plan will be the same as it has been before. He will enter the hall thinking to feast on the men inside. I have a feeling he will leave nothing left of whomever it is he takes, if he manages to. I would not be surprised if he did. If I die in this fight, will you send my armor and sword back to my uncle?" Hrothgar nodded solemnly, and watched as the brave young soldier walked out of his throne room.

The brave young soldier who seemed to be their last hope…


	3. The Battle with Grendel

_Chapter 3: The Battle with Grendel_

The hills and bogs were surrounded in mist. The cloudy night blocked Grendel from any watching eyes as he made his way towards Herot, hoping someone would still be in there by the time he arrived. He slid silently through the shadows, grinning as they seemed to embrace him in their darkness as he went by.

He was surprised to find the gold-shining hall to be defended as firmly as it was. He went straight up to the door and wrenched it open, ripping the locks off with just a touch. His face was twisted into a beastly snarl as he rushed over the threshold. He walked quickly over the floor, his eyes burning with Hell's own fire.

He paused, finally noticing all of the sleeping figures. Soldiers both young and old lined the floor, sleeping soundly. Grendel rejoiced at the sight, intending to kill each and every one of them before morning.

He was so distracted with the thoughts of his feasting that he did not see the open eyes watching him as his claws clicked on the hard floor, watching him. Fate had another plan for Grendel, though. He reached for the first Geat and ripped him apart, drinking the life-blood from the poor soldier's veins. He moved on to the next in the line, but was surprised to find the soldier being the one holding him, instead of the other way around.

Beowulf grabbed Grendel's claw as he reached for him and bent it back, propping himself up on one arm. All at once, Grendel's mind searched for a memory of someone as strong as the human laying before him.

He found none.

He was instantly flooded with fear, but found himself unable to escape the human's clutches. All he wanted to do was run from Beowulf, but he lost that option as soon as the human grabbed hold of him. He realized this was a different hall than the one he had emptied. These humans were willing to fight back.

Beowulf stood up, not releasing his hold on Grendel, and stopped him from trying to pry himself out of his grip. He took both of his claws in his fists and squeezed them until they cracked. Grendel continued to struggle, but it was to no avail. He would not be leaving unless the human wished it. It was the only time Grendel ever regretted something.

The hall rang and the floorboards shook with the ferocity of the battle. The Danes shook with terror as the battle moved down the aisles of Herot, the building seeming to sway with the force of the blows to its walls. With the artful craftsmanship that went into building the hall, it stood firm. The furniture, on the other hand, was not built the same as the hall. The benches rattled and fell to the floor, the gold-covered boards grating as the two fighters battled across them. Only fire could destroy the great hall, but Grendel and Beowulf did quite a bit of damage to the inside.

Suddenly the fierce sounds of fighting turned to those of the Devil. Terrible screams echoed through the dark hall, shrieks of pain and defeat. The sounds ripped out of Grendel's throat as Beowulf took victory.

Beowulf planned to make sure Grendel died in the hall, knowing he would just terrorize the Danes again, if given the chance. All around them, Beowulf's men stood ready to defend their prince, swords drawn and ready for battle. But thanks to Grendel's curse, no mortal man's blade could hurt him.

Grendel accepted that his time was done, feeling his energy drain out of him as he looked upon his bound claws. He knew he would be heading straight into the hands of even worse fiends, right into Hell. As he lay there, Beowulf still going at his drained body, he came to realize just what it meant to go against the Almighty. He was once the affliction of men, terrorizing them with his presence and killings. But now, his strength had drained away, his claws useless, unable to defend himself from his human attacker. His anger slowly rose again, but he could do nothing about it. He twisted and writhed on the floor as Beowulf pulled his arm, managing to rip it completely off…

**~-~-~**

And so ended the first battle of Beowulf. Grendel died in his lair, making it back even with the horrendous injury dealt to him. The Danes celebrated the purging of Herot, allowing them to use their hall just as they had all those years ago. The foreigner had won their battle, and the Danes were free of their grief and sorrow.

Beowulf was also happy with the outcome. He had fulfilled his quest and freed the people of Denmark of the suffering that had been forced upon them and their king. He could go home knowing his people had been right when they said it was his duty to help Hrothgar. And t=he had the reward to prove it.

None of the Danes could ever doubt the events of that day, Beowulf's victory over Grendel. Not with the beast's claw, arm, and shoulder hanging from Herot's rafters as a sign of the victory…

**A/N: Okay, so this was all I had to do. I want to get back to the other stories, since I haven't even started the next chapters of either of them, so I'm not going to finish this. But for those of you who are actually reading this, there were two other battles that took place. But that's all I'm going to tell you… :)**


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